Tangled Webs

storybook we own. Daemonar fell asleep halfway through the last one.”
    Lucivar smiled. “Gave you a bit of a rest, then.”
    A change in her breathing, in her body going from sleep relaxed to aware.
    “Before he left, he said something interesting.”
    “He says interesting things all the time.”
    No amusement. Her body was telling him he didn’t have to be concerned about her temper, but he wished there were a little more light in the room so he could see her face.
    “He said children aren’t the only ones who like to hear a story.”
    He tensed. Couldn’t stop his body’s response to the words. His father might say interesting things, but sometimes the man talked too damn much.
    “No one valued reading in my family,” Marian said. “Even when I asked for a book as a gift, it was viewed as wasted coin. So I was relieved that you were indulgent about my buying books and spending time in the evenings reading.”
    “I’m not indulgent,” he growled. Envious sometimes because she got so much pleasure from blots of ink on a page while he struggled to read what he had to, but not indulgent. “Your coins, your time. You can do what you please with both.”
    “I didn’t realize you would enjoy sharing those stories.”
    Embarrassment. A coating of shame. And a healthy sense of survival because he knew if Daemon and Saetan were aware of those feelings—or more aware than they already were—they would both pound on him.
    “He suggested having a family story night once a week. Just us—you, me, Jaenelle, Daemon, and him. Surreal, too, if she’s interested.”
    He shifted. All right. He squirmed. “You don’t have to do this. You would have read the book. All of you would have read it.”
    “Not if we picked a new story. And maybe in the winter, when it’s too cold to do much, maybe I could share some stories with you that I enjoyed. But not the romances. I couldn’t read the…”
    “The…?”
    “I couldn’t read those parts out loud.”
    “Maybe I could read those parts for myself.” At least he’d have incentive.
    “Don’t get ideas. It’s late.”
    “Yes, Lady,” he replied, chuckling.
    He tucked them in and curled himself protectively around her.
    “Lucivar?”
    “Hmm?”
    “I’d like to do that story night. It would be fun.”
    “I’ll talk to Daemon about it.” Who would pounce on the idea, so the decision was already made.
    As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about his father coming here to talk with him, to read to Daemonar.
    No, he hadn’t been reunited with Saetan for that many years, but the man did understand his children.

FIVE
     
     
    S ometimes the only way to deal with a Warlord Prince was not to let him in the door.
    Surreal was so pleased with that solution, she repeated it to herself two more times while waiting for Helton, the town house butler, to open the front door.
    “Now,” she said, in a tone that held both warning and forgiveness. The warning was for the attempt to delay her departure until Rainier arrived. The forgiveness was because Helton wasn’t half as scary as Beale, the butler at SaDiablo Hall, and she didn’t want the man to resign because he felt unable to deal with her. He’d been fine serving the rest of the SaDiablo family, including the ones who had been demon-dead, but he seemed to find her more of a challenge.
    She wasn’t sure if that was flattering or frightening.
    Helton hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door. Slowly.
    Running out of patience, she slipped through the meager opening and stepped outside just as Rainier bounded up the town house’s steps. When he saw her blocking his entry, he teetered on the edge of a step—as much as Rainier ever teetered—then settled one step below and gave her a look that blended a hopeful-puppy expression with the Warlord Prince I-am-a-law-unto-myself attitude. The attitude came naturally to that caste of male. She suspected Rainier, along with the rest of the boyos, had learned the hopeful-puppy expression by studying his kindred brothers. It was damn hard to slap at any male when he had that look on his face. Even if he wasn’t furry.
    “We’re going out,” Surreal said pleasantly.
    “No, we are not,” Rainier replied just as pleasantly.
    She saw that little extra something in his eyes now, that subtle difference in the way he held himself.
    Jaenelle had told her once, When a male sets his heels down with the intention of standing between you and whatever he’s